Dawn echos amongst the birds
so softly they rejoice
and the brook washes away yesturday's troubles.
* * *
HAVOC!
the man-made metal vulture,
swoops from its perch.
The claw graps at the earth.
The ground churns.
Groped, tarnished,
With the deadly scars.
It contracts,
moves on.
the night blanket covers.












Comments
tress cutting is good. stop worrying. would you rather you childrens children die of lack of oxygen - or you have nothing with wood in it!
I KNOW YOU YOU CAPATALIST SOCIOLIST SCUM.
good poem anyways.
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